


It's three in the morning

by orphan_account



Series: eight ways to say 'I love you' [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Drabble, M/M, drunk!Niall
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 12:37:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 623
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3249962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Spit it into his voicemail, a little slurred and sounding like the shot of whiskey you downed for courage."</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's three in the morning

1.

 

It’s way past midnight, but Niall doesn’t realise it. His vision is blurred, his movements clumsy. There’s one thing he has no trouble doing though. He doesn’t even have to think about it anymore, the bottle fits perfectly in his hand and when he lifts it, it comes straight to his mouth and burns slowly down his throat.  

 

It’s way past midnight and Niall is watching his phone like it holds all the answers. Maybe it does. He’s got the familiar number punched in but he just can’t bring himself to press the green button and listen to the endless ringing tone. So instead, he stares at it, like maybe if he stares long enough, the phone would recite him what to say to make it all okay.

 

It doesn’t of course. It’s just a phone.

 

And Niall is definitely drunk by then, like pissed drunk, the kind of drunk where you’re not quite sure what is right or wrong because at this point, nothing really matters anymore. So he presses a series of numbers, and he is pleasantely surprised that he got it right the first time, in his state anyway.

 

And it rings. It rings and Niall hates that sound. It’s dull and monotone and previsible. He knows that after the first ring there’s gonna be a second, and then a third and it’ll just keep on ringing because it’s _three_ am and nobody picks the phone up at three am.

 

‘Hi, you have reached Zayn Malik’s phone, I am unfortunately not avaible at the moment. Please call later or leave a message after the tone’ and then it goes beep.

 

Niall stays silent because he’s not sure if he wants to leave a message. That’s not the kind of thing you do over the phone, especially not in a voicemail.

 

He fucked up though. He fucked up big time and he’s desesperate to do anything to make it up.

 

He breaths heavily into the phone.

 

“Hey Zayn, it’s me, uh, Niall,” pause. Swing of the bottle. “I-I-I know that you don’t want anything to do with me at this very moment,” he slurs into the phone, not really caring about the fact that Zayn will most definitely know he got drunk again. “I know I disappointed you. I tend to do that a lot. You should know better than anybody else,” pause. Swing of the bottle. “The thing is, I need you. And you know that. And no matter how much you hate me right now, I hate myself a lot more for hurting you by not keeping my promise. They always leave, everybody does. You never did though, you were always there from he start, you’ve been putting up with my shit for so long, I don’t even know how you do,” his throat is dry. He drinks some more. the whiskey runs down his throat. “And it may sounds kind of selfish but I don’t want you to leave. Not now, not ever,” even when he brings up his hand to wipe his tears, he still doesn’t realise he’s crying, he’s too far gone.

 

There’s a long pause. He doesn’t even know if the message is still recording. He drowns the rest of the bottle.

 

“I love you Zayn.”

 

He says it, not above a whisper, but it’s there and he smiles at himself because he loves him.

 

‘To send this voicemail press 1. To start over another voicemail press 2. To erase this voicemail press 3. To resume...’ he lets his finger linger over the digit number 1 as the woman’s voice fills the silence and Zayn’s face fills his mind.

  
He ends up pressing 3 and falling asleep on the couch with a heavy heart. 

**Author's Note:**

> First part of a series of 8 drabbles.


End file.
